


Is It Enough (If You Fell For Me)

by ShadowsLament



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, This is only an almost AU; you know how Graham's story goes, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsLament/pseuds/ShadowsLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham, Emma, Killian: They’re links in a chain, one leading to the other. After Neverland, Emma realizes what that means, and makes up her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will forever be a fortress of Gremma/Captain Swan feels.
> 
> Music is a big part of my (excruciatingly slow) writing process; I'll soon be posting a list of four or so songs that heavily influenced this fic over on my tumblr. Oh, and about that first sentence up there: I've got a few more Graham/Emma/Killian ideas kicking around in my head, so this may or may not be the last story about them you see from me.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

_I don’t feel anything, Regina, and I know now it’s not me. It’s you_.

Graham followed Emma into the station, her clipped footfalls punctuating the words echoing in his head. They’d formed quickly, so swiftly he hadn’t recognized the lie: He could only wish to be numb. But no, he felt each of the thousand thorns, buried in his body where Regina’s nails had scored his skin, and knew he bled. Where her mouth had found muscle and laved poison into the wounds, there was this unbearable ache. 

Regina had snared him with promises stronger than wire or vine and, that day, his will was like a leaf torn from its stem. He could do nothing after that but stand immobile at the edge of the forest, watching as it burned.

So long in the hollow of Regina’s hand, he’d thought all that was left of him was ash. 

Then, the night before, he’d bolted up from her bed. Awake. His chest heaving, he drew in air that faintly smelled of fern and fur, bark and blood. Something unfurled in him; took shape as a choice. It had been an act of will: shaking off her demands, her hands, and he would never forget how he quaked with the effort. Dormant till that very second, the need to shield himself from dark eyes, her covetous gaze, drove him from the bed. Heeding the instinct to conceal the bud of hope rooted in his chest as he hadn’t managed with his heart, he fumbled with his clothes, yanking his pants on. His shirt buttons were managed haphazardly before he shoved into his boots and stumbled out of the house, determination an insistent howl he’d last heard a lifetime ago.

“Graham?”

He blinked. The floor was no longer a rippled blanket of stone and dirt, threaded through with needles stripped from the trees. It was speckled linoleum: the station. Lifting his head, his blurred gaze snagged on hair that shone like the rising sun in the dim room. “Emma.” 

_I need to feel something, and the only way to do that is to give myself a chance_. 

He’d been so desperate to talk to her, and when he let himself step forward, allowed his roughened fingers to find and hold Emma’s face, he hadn’t realized what he was doing. All he knew in that moment was Emma, that she was fierce as a whole pack of wolves, and that he could see in her eyes, when the moon lit on that verdant green, a wound like a thorn in her side. She was not only a chance; she was his own test. When he kissed her, it was because he wanted to. 

“Graham,” Emma repeated. “Are you with me?”

Attempting to focus, he blinked again. “Hmm?” 

“You all right? You looked kinda out of it.”

“I...I’m not sure?” He shook his head, and then, “I think m’fine.” 

“That’s reassuring,” she muttered, turning away to tug open a desk drawer. Withdrawing a first aid kit, she tossed the small white box on top of a few scattered files, popped the lid. Hastily foraging through the contents, Emma pulled out a paper packet and tore it open. In the low light, her fingertips glistened on the disinfectant cloth, refolding it into a thick, loose square. “Huh. These things are usually bone dry when you actually need one.”

Two strides and Graham paused, standing uncertainly in front of her. He took the cloth from her hand and looked up, into her widened eyes. “I’d like to.”

His breath lodged in his throat, watching her take a step back. Perched on the ledge of the desk, she considered him, seemed to see the strain in his neutral expression, and nodded. The air caged in his lungs escaped in a slow but steady rush as he moved closer, lifting the cloth to the cut sliced beneath the curve of her eyebrow. Quietly, he admitted, “I don’t know why I let myself get caught up with her.”

“Because it was easy, and safe,” Emma said, staying still while he dabbed at the drying blood. “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you feel sucks.”

“Regina was neither of those things,” he murmured, and winced when Emma flinched back from the peroxide’s sting. Smoothing his thumb across her forehead, strands of her hair slid through the lines imprinted in the pad. He shivered, let his hands fall away from her face. “All better.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her face turned up to his. Softened by something tentative and tender, like the hope sheltering in his chest felt, her eyes followed when he turned to discard the cloth, to close the box’s lid. If he imagined the creaking hinge would sway her attention, it didn’t.

He smiled, sheepish. “What?”

Emma straightened, shifting off the desk. She drew nearer, her approach measured, as though he was a skittish animal, or she was. He held his ground when her head tipped back, steady as she leaned in. Her eyelashes flicked and fluttered, like black butterfly wings: entrancing in their flight. 

He’d barely closed his eyes when her lips brushed his, light as the breeze that stirred the pale primrose, deep in the woods. During all the time that must have passed before her, through all those days he had lost track of, he’d thought he’d been breathing. He thought he had at least lived. 

He wondered, briefly, how he managed to get it all so wrong.

Opening his mouth to her, a warmth he had never known eased inside him, chasing the cold from his blood. Splayed over the curve of her hips, his fingers tightened. Brought her closer, until her breasts were soft swells, snug against his chest. Her heart beat strongly, quickening as her hand slid up his biceps, trailing across his shoulder to his nape. Emma held on as he did: sparing not a single thought to letting go.

“Help me forget,” he breathed against her lips. “Be all that I remember.”

Her fingers shook against his neck. “Graham...I--”

“I’ll understand, if you won’t stay,” he told her. “That’s not what this is about yet.”

“It’s not?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“No. I--I thought I’d never feel this kind of wanting again.” Sliding his arms around her back, holding her close, Graham dropped his forehead to hers. “That I might not be able to even--” He took the breath she exhaled, and it was that much sweeter for how understanding drove it from her lips. “But...if you’ll have me, _this_ , now...Emma, I’ve few virtues left to my name, but patience is one.” 

Several seconds slipped by before Emma’s hand rose, her fingers pushing into his hair. “It could be a long wait.”

“But just think, you won’t have to look far to find me.” His mouth ghosted over hers, moving to her cheek, her ear. “When we’re ready to lo--” The rest was lost to a tug on his hair; he angled his head, meeting with equal force the unyielding pressure of her mouth. “Emma.” Her name was a low growl, vibrating in his chest. “If it’s a yes to this,” he managed, and nipped her bottom lip. “Say so.”

Emma let loose of his hair in favor of his tie, working the knot until the narrow strip of material fell free of his collar. He shrugged off the vest as she focused on his shirt, the buttons coming undone deliberately, one by one. “It could be hopeless.”

“It might be.” The thin straps of her camisole gave way to his thumbs, gliding beneath and up, skimming smooth skin to the well where her collarbones met. A bent finger under her chin urged her head up. “But I need something to believe in,” he said, drawing the straps from the slope of her shoulders, “and it’s my choice.” 

Emma swallowed and surged up, rocking him back. He shrugged his shoulders, felt cool air on his skin as she pushed at his shirt, catching the rolled up sleeves on his hands. Jerking free of it, the shirt fell to the floor and settled as a rippled pool at his feet. “Emma,” he rasped, gathering the hem of her silken top in tightening fists. “Say yes.” Unsteady, his knuckles grazed her back. “I need to hear it.”

Nimble fingers stilled on his belt buckle. Her chest rose against his, her breath fever hot, raising a field of goose bumps in its wake. “Yes.” She lifted her eyes to his, and it was like looking at an eclipse: her pupils blown, the hungry dark consuming vibrant light. “I want you, this. Now. I can’t prom--”

Graham kissed her, accepting her terms without hesitation. He broke away to strip the camisole over her head, and returned to her lips, still parted for him. His voice muffled, he apologetically said, “There’s only the floor, or--” 

“The floor,” Emma assured him, “is fine.” His belt dropped, hitting the ground with a sound like a chime. “Or the chair.” Her thumb rounded the button on the waistband, coaxing it, slowly, through the loop. “Your desk.” The matte tab clutched tight, she took her time, dragged the zipper down. “I don’t care,” she murmured. “I just want to feel you.”

A low groan rolled off his tongue, into her mouth, as he hooked a finger in the elastic binding her hair and gently towed it down. Soft strands fell like rain water, washing over his hand at her back. Unclasping her bra, the sheer material snagged on their hips, pinned together, but all he knew was her heat, the way she pressed closer. 

“ _Emma_.” His hands curled firmly around the back of her thighs, Graham lifted her up, swallowing her surprised gasp, and urged her legs around his hips. “Hold on,” he warned, kneeling, taking them both to the floor. Guiding her down, making a pillow of his palm, her hair tangled around his fingers as he skipped kisses like stones, descending her throat. “So beautiful,” he whispered against the flushed skin beneath his mouth.

“I can’t--” The rest caught like a sob, held back by the trembling line of her lips. Tightening her legs around his torso, she bore down with her heels, pushing his pants low on his hips. “ _Graham_. Just--Do something.”

“Gladly.” Gently catching her nipple between his teeth, he laved the peak with his tongue. She shuddered and shifted her hips in bare circles, grazing the head of his cock, throbbing against his stomach. “I thought to take this slow.”

Her breath hitched when he eased back, peeling her jeans off. “Next time.”

“Next time,” he agreed, tossing his pants over his boots beneath the desk. He moved back to her, froze when her hand settled, open and firm, on his chest. Holding him off. His Adam’s apple bobbed harshly, clearing a path for the question scraping his throat. “You’ve changed your mind?”

Drawing light fingertips down his abdomen, Emma shook her head. “But...I need to--” She turned her gaze aside, but not before he glimpsed that thorn; the wound that caused a pang of pain to cut through the pleasure. That made her hesitate. 

Instinct tightened his stomach; heeding it, he breathed in deeply. “Ride me.”

Her brow rose, posing a question she didn’t give voice to. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. It wasn’t a plea Graham saw there, etched into her expression, but something just as undeniable. “I know she—”

“I can give you this, Emma.” He took her hands, small but battle-ready, and felt certain she’d hold all of him safe. “Whatever you need to feel--”

“Stop,” she said, smiling tremulously. “Or I might have to wonder if this is really just a dream.”

“Let’s find out.” On his back, Graham reached for her. “C’mere.”

Threading their fingers together, Emma settled astride him and leaned down, kissed the faint freckles on his nose. Swept her tongue across his lips and scraped with her teeth. His eyes clenched shut when she reached down with her left hand, slid her palm along the hard length of his cock and gripped. Teasing them both, rocking against the tip for endless minutes. She took on her tongue every ragged breath, each broken groan, until she sank down and gave him one of her own.

Wet and warmer than summer, she moved languidly, rolling her hips into his thrusts. He watched pleasure shade her skin, a sailor’s sunset above him, and tightened his hold on her hand. 

Biting her lip, Emma hastened the pace, rocking faster. Taking him harder. He slipped his free hand between his stomach and hers, sliding lower to press two fingers against her clit. Her breath stuttered, soft moans shaping around his name as he brought her closer to the edge. “I’m there with you,” he told her, his voice rough, shaking with restraint. “Let go.”

Her mouth rounded on a silent cry, and her eyes, wide and wild, latched onto his. A long moment later, she trembled and stilled. Hovered there, waiting. For him, he realized, and came apart as he watched her fall. 

In his arms, against his shoulder, Emma stifled a choked sob.

Graham smoothed a hand over the back of her head, down her spine. She burrowed in, nearer yet, her hair a blanket across their shoulders. He wanted to speak, but there were no words so lovely as the lullaby of her heartbeat. Content to simply hold her, he relaxed against the hard floor, closed his eyes.

“Graham?”

“Mmm?”

“That was…”

“I know,” he murmured, when she left the rest unsaid in favor of a kiss, secreted away in the hollow of his throat. “Emma…Thank you.”

Lifting her head, she pushed an errant curl of damp hair back from his forehead. “For what?”

“For—” Silenced by a sharp pain, stabbing through his chest, Graham flinched. 

“What was that?” Emma asked, coming to her knees at his side.

“Noth—” Wracked by a spasm of suffocating pressure, his mouth snapped shut. He bit into his tongue and tasted blood: bitter, burning. The band around his chest wrenched tighter. Graham fought to remain still, to not thrash like a wounded stag caught in a snare. Carefully turning his head, he sought Emma’s eyes, and couldn’t lift a hand to soothe away the crease furrowed between her brows. “Em--I’m…”

“Graham,” Emma snapped, wedging her arm beneath his shoulders. Propping him up, pulling him closer. “Tell me what to do. Graham, please. Tell me—”

Made mute by agony, he could only keep his gaze, blurred by tears, on her face. With effort, he lifted his hand and covered hers on his chest, where she pressed down, trying to staunch an invisible wound. He meant to reassure her, but she didn’t understand, yet, what was happening; that there was nothing she could do. 

He listened, helplessly, as she called for him, and another second passed, too fast. His breathing seized and he convulsed. He didn’t let go; wouldn’t let her be alone until he had no choice. 

“Graham.”

Her voice was hoarse; he clung to the sound, welcoming it as he once had the rustling of leaves, shifting in the autumn wind.

“Graham.”

She caught her fingers in his hair, tucking his head beneath her chin, and her scent was warmer than amber, headier than all the flowers in his forest.

“ _Graham_.”

Emma shook him. He focused on her touch; the weight of her arms wrapped around him, like a knotted cord; the way her body trembled, curling ever closer. 

“ _Graham!_ ”

Into the dark, he took the thought of her. The bright memory of them.


	2. Chapter 2

“What is that, then?”

Emma’s unfocused gaze lifted from her thumb, absently rubbing the boot lace tied around her wrist. She frowned at Hook, watching her from where he stood next to the wheel. “What?”

Hook nodded towards her hand, curled into a loose fist she had braced on her bent knee. “The cord.” His eyes flicked away, up to the billowing sail. “You’ve been worrying it for quite some time now.”

Dropping her chin, she swept another pass over the leather coil. It was warm, smooth. The knot tight as the day she made it. 

With anything she might have said locked in her throat, Emma stood and moved across the deck. Folding her arms on the rail, she leaned over the side. Thin white wisps broke around the bow, the slivered clouds racing to the stern. As high as the ship sailed, the wind held no chill, sifting through her hair like long, familiar fingers. 

_I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love...Until I met you._

On the move through Neverland, desperate to find Henry and survive Pan’s obstacle course, she had put off thinking about Hook’s secret. It had been easier, then, to pretend that his words hadn’t struck a chord; a memory that was always there, playing in the back of her mind. 

Their mission accomplished, she didn’t have that luxury anymore. 

Emma closed her eyes, and when her palm settled over the boot lace, exhaled. In Echo Cave, as Hook spoke, with Neal too close behind him and looking at her expectantly, she’d barely kept from reaching for her wrist. 

When Neal first took off, it was like she’d been shot: the pain was so damn sharp, it ripped straight through her chest. Left an open wound that never stopped bleeding, no matter how much time passed. Then, suddenly, there was Henry, and Storybrooke. Graham. She met him, and there was still this throbbing; a stitch in her side. 

She hadn’t even noticed the scab forming. It had taken curious minutes, hours of talking, days of watching, before she realized it wasn’t the slowly healing wound that itched, but her fingers, whenever she wondered what Graham’s curls would feel like tangled around the tips. And all too often, way more than she should, she caught herself thinking about him: the barely there freckles, the obscene curve of his bottom lip, the way he smiled. At her.

Emma had learned early enough that life was a set of exhaustive terms and conditions, and one of his was Regina. That was a problem she didn’t need. So she shoved away when he kissed her. Stepped back from a heat that burned like the sun without a canopy of trees above. She may have trembled with how badly she wanted to grab the collar of his coat and pull him close, to tip her head back for another taste, but she walked away. 

Curled around her pillow later that night, for the first time since the dream of Tallahassee died, it wasn’t loneliness that made her ache. It was a craving, the kind she never expected to feel so strongly again.

The next day, Graham left Regina for himself, but he came back with her. He held her face in his hand, tended her wound with careful fingers, and Emma decided the risk was worth it if he was the reward.

There are some things a woman never forgets: The tenderness in Graham’s eyes as he watched her slowly come for him, that was one. His slight smile, the one that was just hers; that was another. His taste, surprisingly sweet, like honey hidden in a forest. Those curls, even softer than they looked; the urge to catch and keep her fingers in his hair stronger than she had imagined. He’d whispered _Emma_ against her skin, his voice deeper and accent thicker for his desire, and her name was never going to sound the same after that. 

Maybe she thought she was prepared, but it overwhelmed her, how right it felt to sink down on Graham. To have him inside her. How she didn’t stop to think twice about leading them both to the edge along a path that might not split; that had looked, more and more, like a one way trip.

Graham gave her that control; his trust in her stronger than Regina’s hold. 

She’d tried so hard not to fall, sure it would hurt. But then it didn’t, and maybe she should have been surprised, but she’d been in his arms the whole time, and he had held her close. Tight, like he meant to never let go. The pain, when it came, broke over her like the crushing wave that took Graham under, tearing him away from her shaking hands. 

His death didn’t hit her like a bullet. The loss of him was a knife, carving out a deep hollow in her chest. 

Winter quickly settled into that void, and she didn’t even try to shake off the cold. What was a layer of frost on her walls, she’d reasoned, if not another defense. She couldn’t have known how Neverland would test her; hadn’t planned on Hook, or that kiss. She walked away from it, from him, dazed, with proof that she wasn’t actually frozen still burning on her lips.

Sighing, Emma gazed out at the stars. 

“Thank you,” she said, quietly breaking her silence. “For everything you did back there.”

There was a shuffle of leather, but when his voice came, it was from the same distance she’d put between them. “Think nothing of it.”

“I’ve been doing too much of that lately,” she muttered, slowly inhaling the crisp night air. Letting the breath go, she turned to prop her elbows on the rail. Hook carefully studied her face, always willing to wait out the storm in her eyes when he found one there. “About what you said.”

“Aye?”

“You meant it.”

He didn’t hesitate, nodding sharply. “Every word.”

A soft breeze stroked her cheek, swept across her lips.

Graham was worth the risk. Her grief was bone deep, always would be, but she wouldn’t take that night back. 

Emma’s chest clenched, trapping her next breath behind her ribs as she pushed away from the rail. Covering the hushed space separating her from Hook, she noticed his white-knuckled hand clamped on the wheel. Saw a flicker of something like hope light up his eyes, brighter than any star. She stopped in front of him and, holding there, listened: her heartbeat, his breathing. A familiar melody, slightly changed. 

Reaching up, Emma took his face in both hands. She leaned in, her lashes low, drifting shut as Hook’s closed. His mouth parted, warm breath glancing off her lips. Emma eased away, before she deepened the kiss, or he did. She smiled, and it was a soft thing, barely hinting at a curve. “Take us home, Killian.”

He blinked, inclining his head as she turned. 

Heading for the ladder, Emma didn’t need to look back: she knew his eyes, wide and blue as the night sky, followed in her wake.


	3. Chapter 3

Killian kept watch on the small town, wondering, not for the first time, how he came to be there. It was an idle thought, prompted by the state of his ship: not a soul on board, quiet, and that despite the busy handling of every day affairs on the docks. Giving himself an unnecessary second more to think on it, he had his answer. 

_You see, I’m in this for the long haul_.

He’d meant that pledge, every bit as much as the vow he made to remain, always, with Milah. Time had passed in excess, and still every thought he had of her brought to mind the day he was made to break it. After, he had stood silent, watching as the water claimed her. He remembered all too well how it felt, like he was a ship on fire: The flames, sheltered in his gut, expanded and consumed him. The smoke blackened his heart. He’d let his rage burn, his need for revenge seethe, hardly contained. 

Until, unexpectedly, there was Emma.

She came into his life with all the strength and tenacity of a storm at sea. Before he’d even had the chance to get his bearings, his course had been forever changed. Set to follow where she led. It was without hesitation that he climbed that beanstalk, and though it meant turning his ship around, he had willingly provided passage to Neverland, a place to which he swore he would never return. It was her last command he struggled with.

 _Take us home_.

Once, he might have claimed his ship home, but that was when Liam’s boots trod the decks; when Milah’s laughter rang out, unfettered and loud as cannon fire. Since those long ago days, home had become a foreign concept, one he had purposefully chosen not to dwell on. As it was, Emma belonged in Storybrooke; beside her son, and bolstered by her newfound family. His place, however, was yet uncertain, though he found himself anchored to her coastal town by hope. 

Hope that gathered itself like a wave, building on his true name, graced by her lips, and a soft smile he’d seen her bestow on no other. Not even the father of her child. And there was that kiss, their second. Light as the clouds that sailed alongside the ship and just as quick, he’d spent the rest of their voyage debating if it could even be counted. If, in that too brief moment, she had deliberately broken her own rule. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Killian turned away from the emptying docks.

“Hey,” Emma called up, halting his steps. “You got a minute?”

Killian returned to the bulwark, and grinned when she didn’t wait for his say-so to stride up the gangway. “For you, I have all the time in the world.”

“Weren’t you going to stay at Granny’s?” Emma asked, grasping the hand he offered as she stepped onto the deck.

“That remains the plan.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, sweeping a pass around her knuckles before letting go. “The corridors were a bit crowded, with all those boys filing in and out. I thought to stay here awhile.”

“If you wait for them to settle down, you could be here all night.”

He shrugged. “It would hardly be the first time. Nor, I suspect, will it be the last.” 

Emma looked at him, unarticulated thoughts darkening her eyes. 

Holding that gaze was like looking into the fathomless deep. Killian shifted, restless for her voice. “And you? What brings you to the docks?”

“What do you think?”

“Honestly?” he asked, and shook his head. “I’ve no idea, love.”

“Guy like you,” Emma said lightly, moving past him to the ladder, “doesn’t know what might bring a woman to his ship?” She glanced back, over her shoulder. The grin she offered was tentative, trembling at one corner. “Seems unlikely.”

“Perhaps, but--” Killian lowered his chin, dropping his gaze to the sun-bleached planks at her feet. “You’re not any woman, Emma.”

Sensing her sudden stillness, he pulled his head up. Her smile, soft and somehow his, lit the oncoming dark. 

“I think,” Emma said, slowly, after a long moment, “you should show me what you mean.”

A handful of words and she knocked him back with the force of a gale wind. Watching her descend belowdecks, his breath expelled in a rush. He curled his hand, shaking, into the folds of his coat before following. The door to his quarters stood open; he stepped over the threshold and paused. 

Emma had taken off her jacket, slung it over a chair. She stood in front of his books, her arm outstretched, her fingers tracing the gold etched into the spines. “I’m surprised Henry didn’t ask to read one of these.”

“They’re his to borrow,” Killian said, “whenever he wishes to do so.”

She turned unhurriedly, her gaze roaming over the odds and ends tucked into niches and corners. “I’ve gotta admit, this wasn’t what I expected.” Emma’s gaze settled on him, remained. “Kind of like you.” 

“Rising above such low expectations, well, that’s easy enough,” he said, moving into the cabin. At the table, he shed his coat and laid it alongside hers, keeping his head down. “And happened to require very little effort on my part.”

“You’re lying,” Emma said, “but to who, I’m not sure.”

His jaw clenched, muscles locking tight. He took a breath, filtering her scent through the salt that seeped into all he owned, and pressed his hand, knuckles down, on the table. Bracing himself. “Why are you here, Emma?”

The ship creaked, protesting the pitch and sway of the tide retreating. He closed his eyes, waiting.

“Because I want you.”

Killian quaked, one long shudder before he straightened. Turned.

Emma gazed at him steadily, the embers of pain he’d seen kindle to flame in her eyes when she’d looked across Echo Cave guttering. She held still, except where her fingers rubbed lightly over the cord round her wrist. He thought to ask, again, but couldn’t for all the words, pleas and demands, flooding his mouth. 

“Killian.” Emma stepped closer. “Say something?”

“I won’t walk away,” he rasped, and licked his dry lips. “If we do this, now, you cannot expect me to--”

Quieted by the light pressure of her hand on his chest, urging him slightly back, Killian settled on the table’s ledge. Through the layer of leather, he felt her fingers on his knees like a brand. She pushed until his legs parted, and drawing her palms up his thighs, fitted them around the curve of his torso. Stepping into the space she’d made, Emma glanced up from the slick swath his tongue had laid on his lips. “We’ll take care of tomorrow,” she said, “when it comes. Just like all the rest.”

“And you’re certain?” Leaning back, he studied the smooth lines of her face. “That this is what you want.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?” 

“I would sooner drown.” He slid his open hand along the swell of her hip, up her back, testing the waters. “Than deny myself even the briefest taste of you.”

“You could try, but you’d live,” Emma promised, gripping him harder. “If I had to drain the ocean to make sure of it.”

Killian’s heartbeat broke rhythm and quickened, hearing the steel in her voice. He drifted down the long column of her throat, a breath between his lips, her skin. “As I will _always_ come for you.”

“You bet you will.” Emma used the fingers woven through his hair to tug his head back. Her downturned gaze was dark and ravenous, rimmed by black lashes like a fluttering veil. She flashed a siren’s smile and said, “It’s just a matter of how hard.”

Groaning, Killian towed her closer and caught her lips in a coaxing kiss. She let him in and met him there; her tongue, demanding as his, stole unspoken words into his mouth. Breathing her in, he knew she was all that sustained him, but he eased back to murmur, “Emma, I would take this slow.”

Her forehead against his, she nodded. “Slow’s good.” 

There was a hitch in her breathing that he felt against his chest. She pulled back then, out of his arms. “Slow, I said. Not full-stop.”

In the center of the cabin, near the foot of his bed, Emma held ground, gripping the hem of her shirt. She met his eyes and tugged the cloth up, over her head. Her hair fell like sunlight through the ship’s sails: long and golden on her shoulders, settling across her bare breasts. The shirt cast aside, she trembled under his heavy-lidded, heated stare, her fingers faltering on the button of her pants. 

He swallowed roughly as she gathered her indomitable strength; as resolve shaped her lips, the lower caught between her teeth. “Emma,” he breathed, straightening away from the table.

A halting hand between them, she shook her head. “Let me do this,” she whispered. “It’s...been awhile, but--I want to.”

That she asked it of him was the only reason he remained pinned where he stood, his fingers tucked into a tight fist at his side. “Do you know how you tempt me?” he asked, giving her his voice when she wouldn’t take his hand. “How even the thought of being inside you is enough to take me to my knees?”

Emma sucked in a breath that lifted her chest, stirring her hair. Her cheeks flushed, pink as her nipples, peeking from between those soft strands. The button freed, she moved to the zipper; it fell slowly beneath her hand, low as it would go before she released the bit of silver to slip her thumbs beneath the lace over her hips. Swaying, she slid the pants down her legs to the floor. 

Shaken by the high notch of her chin, the proud line and gentle slope of her shoulders, Killian reached for the clasps on his vest. They came apart, her eyes clinging to his hand as it moved down to the laces on his trousers. He shed his clothes, uncaring of where the pieces fell, aware of her gaze traveling like the current along his scars. Fully revealed, he lifted his head. “How would you have me?”

“Any way I can.” Emma moved to the bed, stretching out on the mattress with her cheek on his pillow. Rounded nails traveled through the channel between her breasts, coasting over her stomach. “But let’s start here, like this.” She reached for him. “C’mere.”

“Gladly,” he said, and nearly stumbled when she smiled, soft and suddenly sad. “What is it?”

Emma shook her head. “Later.” Her legs parted, falling to either side of him as he knelt above her on the bed. Quietly, she said, “It’s our time now.”

Killian hesitated. “The hook,” he said, “I should take it--”

“Leave it,” Emma told him. “It doesn’t worry me, and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His gaze roamed from her mouth to her collarbones, over the slight bumps on her skin like whitecaps on water, and stiffened. “I--I’m afraid I want you too badly, Emma. I might hurt you when--”

“You won’t,” she assured him. “I’m starting to believe you couldn’t if you tried.”

Killian saw not the slightest hint of fear on her face, only desire; a need that parted her mouth for his kiss. He bent his head and gave it to her, gently taking her lip between his teeth to lave the curve with his tongue. Skimming his fingers down her arm, her thigh, he brushed the pale curls between her legs, lightly dipping into her wet warmth.

A choked cry against his lips and Emma rocked into his hand, driving his finger deeper.

“That’s it, love,” he said, his voice ragged. Wrecked. “Take what you’d have of me.”

“Not enough.” She dug her heels into the mattress, her nails raking rivulets into his back. “Never.”

He circled the bundle of nerves above her folds with his thumb, panting with her. “Never.”

Emma shifted, ringing his cock and sliding her fingers up to the tip. He gasped, thrusting into her hand and losing the rhythm he’d set, his fingers slipping from her heat. “Do that again and I--”

Nipping his jaw, she tightened her hold. “I want you crazy,” she whispered against his throat, “as desperate as I am.”

“I am,” he told her, the words low and rough as a growl. “I promise you, I am.”

She took a deep, shaking breath and angled her hips. Holding his cock there, barely brushing her entrance, Emma lifted dark lashes. “Now. Please.”

He knew not a day would pass that he wouldn’t give her what she wanted; what she asked for, and what she couldn’t. 

Careful to keep the hook sunk into the mattress, Killian gathered her in his arms and pressed forward, felt her muscles ripple around him, pulling him deeper. Buried inside her, he clenched his eyes shut and leaned into her hand, shivering as her thumb smoothed over his cheek. Turning his head, he hid a kiss in the center of her palm. Opened his eyes.

Killian watched as he eased out to the tip and drove back in, and came close to orgasm seeing the pleasure that spread over her face, bright and brilliant as a sunrise in the offing.

Emma moaned, a breathless scrap of sound, and moved with him, rolling her hips into each thrust. If he thought he burned before, it was nothing compared to the fire that licked along his body at every point they touched. “Love,” he bit out, “I’m sorry. I won’t last much longer.”

“That’s okay. I want to see it,” she said, tilting her head back on the pillow. “I want to watch you come.”

“Not alone,” he rasped, sliding deeper. Harder. “Not without you.”

Her eyes holding his, Emma slipped an unsteady hand between them. He felt her fingertips brush his cock as he withdrew, as she touched herself, moving in tight circles, quick as his firm strokes. Seconds passed before her back arched, her breathing coming sharp and shallow. “ _Killian_.”

“I’m here.” His pleasure rose and crested, set to break over him. “Let go.”

Her hand splayed low on his back, Emma bore down, her muscles spasming around his cock. Watching her mouth part, his deep groan was the harmony to her soft cry. 

“Oh, god,” Emma choked out, holding him tight when, long moments later, he moved to pull out. “Don’t go yet.”

Killian stilled. “I’m not crushing you?”

“I’ll breathe better with you right where you are,” she said. “Just...give me a minute.”

“As long as you need.” 

A minuted turned into another, quietly passed in her arms. When she relaxed her grip it was by degrees, like she was afraid to give him wholly up. He brushed a kiss against her forehead, heard her sigh.

“You’re here,” she said, “to stay. For good?”

“Aye.” He eased to her side, maneuvering his arm so the hook was beneath the pillow. Curling around him, Emma shifted until her thigh parted his legs and her arm draped across his ribs, her fingers drawing constellations on his back. Tucking loose, damp strands of hair behind her ear, he was certain. “My home’s with you.” 

Emma hesitated. “Killian, I...”

“I know,” he said, when she remained silent. “Try for some sleep, love. I’ve plans for the morning that intimately involve you.”

Huffing a laugh against his shoulder, Emma said, “More fun?”

Killian gathered her nearer and held her tight, closing his eyes. “As promised.”

Later, in the dark of his dreams, he saw her smile and followed its light.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma burrowed deeper into the mattress, savoring the warmth blanketing her on both sides. She sighed and shifted, sliding her palm down the forearm fitted snug under her arm and threading her fingers through the longer, callused ones splayed over her stomach. 

Cool strands of hair drifted across her cheek and were gently pushed back, behind her ear. 

Drifting up from sleep, Emma frowned. She squeezed the hand she held and blinked her eyes open, lifting them to find a familiar gaze, softened by tenderness, lingering on her face. Shoving up on her elbow, she gasped. The breath she quickly sucked in caught thickly in her throat. 

Through a sheen of moisture, she sought out barely there freckles, moving from one to another up the slope of his nose to the messy curls she could still feel tangled around her fingertips. 

She tried to swallow and managed one choked word. “Graham.”

He smiled, and it was the same soft curve she remembered: the one that was just hers. “Emma.”

“I’m dreaming.” Between the irregular beats of her heart, she whispered, “This is a dream.”

Unwilling to close her eyes, to lose sight of Graham’s face, Emma gripped Killian’s hand harder and silently pleaded with anyone who might be listening to let her sleep, to let nothing wake her up, not while she had them both: The first man who ever really believed in her and the man who, she realized now, always would.

“I miss you,” she said, her voice shaking, breaking at the end.

His brow creased, pain striking like lightning in his eyes. “I know.”

“Graham, I’m—Sorry, so sorry.” Tears slipped free of her lashes and slid unheeded down her cheeks. “I knew in my gut she wouldn’t let you go like that. I should have—“

“Emma,” Graham said quietly, halting the rush of words spilling from her mouth. “Do you think I regret being with you?” He skimmed his thumb over her cheekbone, wiping wet trails from the slope, and shook his head. “I couldn’t.” His gaze dropped, focusing on her hand holding Killian’s. The longing etched into his expression smoothed into something else, something that looked like peace. He laughed lightly. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…Truth is, I wouldn’t change it.” Graham laid his palm over her hand; his fingers found Killian’s wrist, and stayed. “Not any of it.”

Emma leaned forward to rest her head on Graham’s shoulder. Killian moved with her, his heat sliding against her bare back in soothing waves.

“I don’t want to wake up,” she said fervently.

“You will,” Graham told her, his breath somehow warm, washing over her temple. “And that’s all right.”

“How can you say that?”

After a moment, he asked, “Will you forget me, Emma?”

“ _Never_ ,” she breathed. “If I hadn’t met you, I--” She swallowed. “I probably wouldn’t have let him in.”

“You would have, at some point,” Graham said. “Certain things happen because they’re just inevitable.” Against her hair, Emma felt him smile. “Do you think, if I were around, he’d go for a threesome?”

Her stomach tightened at the thought, her pulse skipping ahead. She tried for the laugh he wanted, and knew he must have heard the strain. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe I’ll ask him someday, after I’ve told him about you.”

“Next time I see you, l’d like to know his answer.”

Pulling back slightly, Emma narrowed her eyes, trained on his face. “Next time?”

“You’ve a part of me with you always.” Graham lowered his head, touched his boot lace. “No matter what separates us.” 

“You know, you said that before,” she reminded him. “You promised me a next time.” 

She had wanted, badly, to hate him for breaking it; for denying her a hundred more next times. But she never could, because he had chosen to be with her, not leave her. That meant something. And the part of her that was his, that’s where she was completely free of doubt: In any other situation, he would have fought to keep that promise. 

“I did, just as I’m telling you now that we _will_ see each other again.” Slanting his mouth over hers, he said, “Believe me.”

She closed her eyes and tasted honey, sweet and light on her tongue. “Graham.”

When he didn’t respond, when she felt no hint of his warmth, Emma drew back. “Graham?” She reached out to grab him with her free hand as he began to fade. “Not again, damn it. Graham!”

Graham smiled, and it might have been barely a whisper, but she heard him say, “Remember, you won’t ever have to look far to find me.”

“Where?” she demanded. “Where do I have to--Graham!”

Emma’s eyes shot open, Graham’s name ringing in her ears.

Killian wrenched up beside her, his hand immediately at her back. “Emma?” 

“A dream,” she gasped, frantically searching the cabin. Every corner, every shadow. “It was really just a dream.” 

“About Graham?”

Emma turned, her mouth open. “How did--”

“You said his name,” Killian explained, and looked aside. “Repeatedly.”

“Oh.” Cupping her forehead, Emma rubbed her temples, waiting for her pulse to fall back from its frenzied pace. When the sound of it wasn’t so deafening, she pushed her hair back, off her face, and reached for Killian’s hand. “Look at me.”

“It’s fine, love. You don’t need to--”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed, “but I want to, and you need to hear this, so look at me.”

He pulled his head around, met her eyes. This time, she found the storm in his. “Tell me, then.”

“Graham...After Neal, he was my until I met you. He--” Inhaling, Emma anchored herself to Killian’s scent, the rough around the edges callous on his palm. “Regina crushed his heart before we got much of a chance to--” She blinked and looked up at the ship’s beams, pale as a ghost. “The point is, he made me see that some risks, they’re worth the pain. How he made me feel, in the time we had, it gave me hope when nothing else came close.”

The way Killian quietly looked at her, Emma knew he was reading her like the open book he claimed she was. Knew he saw between the lines. 

“I believe,” he said, finally, “I owe him a debt.”

Her lashes fluttered, relief coursing like blood through her veins. “I’m pretty sure he’d take a threesome in lieu of payment.”

Killian’s eyebrow rose, the curve sharp as his hook. “What?”

“That’s a question for another day,” she said, urging him back down to the mattress. With her head on his chest and his heartbeat playing like a favorite song in her ear, she laced their fingers together. “I think you would have liked him. Eventually.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

Shifting to look up at his face, she asked, “Why’s that?”

“He made you happy,” Killian answered. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah, well, he passed that job on to you.” Emma fitted his arm beneath hers, settling in. “So far, so good.”


End file.
